Once Upon A Westchester High
by ps269
Summary: The PC has split up into different cliques after middle school - and they're all being used. Can Claire, on a visit from Hollywood, convince Massie and the others to regroup for revenge, romance, and high school fabulousness?
1. Prologue

**Claire left for LA at the end of the seventh book. The PC never met Skye Hamilton or Griffin Hastings. None of the couples broke up. **

**I don't own any of the characters you know about.

* * *

**Massie Block had quite a few talents. An impeccable taste in clothes and boys, for one. The ability to manipulate whoever she needed to get whatever she wanted, for another. Searing wit, for yet another. But the thing she'd always prided herself on was her confidence. 

So why was she standing at the entrance of the Westchester High School cafeteria with a plate of California roles and a bottle of Perrier, wishing she was invisible?

She scanned the caff with narrowed amber eyes. And immediately knew the answer: her friends – excuse me, her _ex_-friends – were not beside her. And without their support and approval making an invisible barrier around her designer-dressed, Pilates-toned body, she felt like an LBR. A pasty, bathroom-cologne-wearing, Old Navy-clad, bucktoothed LBR.

"Mass!" One of the A-minus-list girls from her Fashion Design elective was waving from a table that was almost the best in the room. _Almost_. Massie remembered a time when almost-best had been something to wipe her Jimmy Choo stiletto boots on. Her throat sealed shut as she realized that in high school, almost-royalty was the best she could do.

It was only the second month of high school, but Massie was a quick learner. She'd grown to realize that in a scene dominated by athletics, being beautiful and cunning and fashionable just wouldn't cut it. She could be popular, maybe, but she wouldn't be _it_.

As she began her slow walk to the almost-table, she pretended that was enough.

* * *

Theoretically, Alicia Rivera supposed, she'd hit the jackpot. Only a freshman and she was sitting beside head cheerleader and Homecoming Queen Skye Hamilton at the A-list table with the cute jocks and her fellow cheerleaders. She was used to the stares and the whispers, of course, but she still loved feeling the envy, the covetousness of everyone who wanted her or wanted to be her. It was just that she now had to feel it in a skimpy blue-and-gold cheerleading uniform instead of classy Ralph Lauren separates.

The girl who couldn't run could dance. Massie had always ragged on her for that. But where was Massie now?

"So, Leesh." Cassandra Gordon put her elbows on the table, almost in the vinaigrette dressing of her salad, and raised her overplucked eyebrows. "Got a dress for Homecoming yet?"

"Well, I –" Alicia smiled at the thought of the simple red Stella McCartney dress that she'd bought at the mall over the weekend.

"Hope not," Skye Hamilton interrupted sharply. Alicia watched Josh Hotz, now the JV soccer captain, stare at the leggy blond the way he'd once stared at her. She tilted her head so that her glossy raven mane swished enticingly from one waist to the other, but he didn't notice, even though Skye barely noticed him. "Because I'm going to pick out a suitable dress. Leesh needs to stop going for clothes that make her look like she wants to star in _Full House_. I mean, hello? Don't you want to show off some of that dark Mexican skin?"

Alicia bit her full, MAC-glossed lip. "Um, yeah," she agreed, forcing a sweet smile.

Pretty Committee or the cheer squad, Alicia Rivera never got to do what she wanted. But at least Massie had known she was Spanish, not Mexican.

Then again, where was that lying, cheating, pretentious whore now?

* * *

"Guess what!" Taylor yelled exuberantly.

Dylan Marvil set her loaded tray down on the table and took a gigantic bite of fried chicken before smiling at her best friend. "You saw a gorilla in math?"

"Yeah, and he's on the football team, but that's besides the point." Taylor ran a pale long-fingered hand through his green-streaked blond hair. "The _point_ is, I am now the proud owner of a metallic blue 14Inch fucker called the Silverman Bass Guitar."

"No way!" On his other side, Jessica Rhett's blue eyes lit up.

"14Inch fucker," Dylan burped mischievously. Taylor cracked up. Dylan grinned, loving the full throatiness of his laugh.

Skye Hamilton called Dylan's posse the art freaks, and once upon an OCD Dylan would have agreed. But the thing was, now she preferred to think of them as incredibly talented individuals she had a shitload of fun with. Taylor had a band Benjy Madden would have dyed his hair blond to be in. Jess could paint like a dream. Layne could invent things Einstein would've been happy to, and she was crazy fun. Su Ling could be on Broadway, honestly, and Dean and Braden? Well, what couldn't they do, besides play football?

Dylan sometimes wondered if the others resented how close she was with Taylor, since she was just a drummer in his band and not a very good one at that. Still, when she was on the receiving end of that laugh, that smile, well, it made everything else inconsequential.

* * *

Kristen Gregory pulled her algebra textbook closer to her face and squinted at it, wondering when, exactly, books had become the only friends she had.

She'd always kind of suspected she was a nerd. But being Massie's friend had made her nerdiness cool; she'd even started thinking she was popular in her own right. She should have known the truth – that the Pretty Committee's patronage could make Weezer's frontman hotter than Jessica Simspon.

"Harvard," she said out loud, trying to remind herself that she wasn't always going to be a loser. Confident that in the musty, dusty, silent library, nobody would hear her.

"Tell me that's not the name of some other guy." _His_ voice pricked her skin, sending shivers running down her back in a deliciously frightening way.

"Hey," she said, faux-calmly, turning around to look at him and regretting the decision when his warm breath hit her face.

He reached out and ran his calloused hands up and down her thin shoulders. Kristen felt like clay at his touch – utterly pliable. She closed her eyes involuntarily. His soft lips pressed into her throat, and Kristen's world was spinning all over again. She clawed his face away from her throat and bit down on his lip, feeling him smile triumphantly as he took her apart. He kissed her with control and she shoved herself against him urgently, abandoning any sort of want to regain herself.

He pulled away after an eternity of desperation. "Here," he said, putting his algebra book down next to hers, not meeting her eyes.

Kristin curled her hands into fists as he backed away with a wink. How could he make her forget, every time, that his kisses were nothing but currency? That he was out of her league? That she was someone he used and spit out – quite literally – whenever he felt like it?

Kristen could have lived with the heartbreak. It was the self-hatred that made her pick up her pen and drive it slowly, ruthlessly into her arm. The need for self-punishment that made her stare coldly down at the rivulet of blood snaking out of the cut, feeling nothing but a sense of balance.

* * *

"I can't," Claire Lyons whispered, a single tear streaming artistically down one cheek. "I can't be the girl everyone thinks you need."

"But you _are_ the girl I _want_," Tom Felton declared passionately.

As their blond heads closed in for a kiss, Claire held her breath.

"That's a wrap!" The newest director of Harry Potter shouted.

Claire sprang away from her co-star even before the entire crew of _Draco and the Hufflepuff Nobody: A Love Story_ burst into applause. She didn't pause as she passed the projection room, didn't stop as she ran past a couple of cheering extras, and jumped back only when she slammed into the tall brunette on the steps of her dressing room.

"Excuse me," Claire said to the film's publicist.

The brunette looked frustrated. "Claire, please consider saying you and Tom have found a romance off the sets on _Leno_ tomorrow," she pleaded. "I've told you a million times, Harry Potter fans don't want Draco with an unknown girl as opposed to, say, Hermione or Ginny, and a coup like that could stimulate audiences in a way that –"

"And _I've_ told _you_ a million times, I have a boyfriend, Felicia, so please don't ask me anymore?" Claire prayer-positioned her hands.

"A boyfriend who –" Felicia started.

_Cl-eh, Cl-eh_. The sound filled the room.

"Happens to be calling me right now!" Claire finished. She dashed inside, shut the door almost violently, and pressed her Motorola Razr to her ear eagerly. "Cam?"

"Hey." Cam's voice was choked, like he'd swallowed ten Gummy Bears at the same time.

"Hey!" Claire beamed at the air. Hearing Cam's voice made her feel like they were cuddling by a roaring fire with a snowstorm howling outside, kissing and feeding each other Red Vines and Gummy Bears. "I miss you! How's the East Coast? Cold yet?"

"Claire, we need to talk."

Claire stopped beaming. "What's wrong?"

There was a long, pregnant pause. "I can't do this anymore," Cam said finally.

"Do what? Call me? That's okay. I can call you. I have some money now, so I can afford it…" Claire knew she was babbling, but panic was filling her stomach the way sea water filled the holes in the sand in front of her house in Malibu.

"The last time I saw you was four months ago, Claire!" Cam exploded. "I go to dances alone, I don't kiss anyone on New Year's Eve, I miss you like crazy at night but there's nothing I can do about it –"

"I'll visit more often," Claire promised, even though she knew she probably couldn't.

"Every day I see some stupid tabloid saying you're with some new Hollywood guy –"

"That's all just rumours, Cam! And they're stupid!"

"You chose that life, Claire. You _chose_ it." Cam swallowed audibly. "I can't – it's too hard for me."

"I love you, Cam," Claire said urgently.

"I'm sorry," Cam said, sounding desperately sad. "It's over, Claire."

"Claire?" Felicia pushed the door open. "Claire, you're just not committed enough to your career. You're a fantastic actor but you hold back in romantic scenes, you don't contribute to your image, you –" She stopped. Claire remained immobile, staring into space, too stunned to even cry. "At least think about _Leno_," Felicia sighed.

"Okay," Claire said in a voice that didn't sound like hers.

"You'll think about it?" Felicia looked surprised.

"No," Claire said. "I'll do it."

It wasn't middle school anymore.

* * *

**Like it? Hate it? Let me know:D.**


	2. Hollywood Diva

"Hi," Claire purred, leaning seductively against the door of Miles' office.

Her agent sighed deeply. "Come in, Claire."

Claire sashayed in and plopped into the wine-red velvet couch beside his desk, stretching her legs out in front of her. "So what did you call me in for, Miles? To congratulate me on winning an Oscar two years into the movie business or to congratulate me on _Mean Girls 2 _breaking box-office records this week?"

Miles wordlessly slapped a copy of _US Weekly_ down in front of her in answer.

Claire smirked, looking down at the cover picture of herself hoisting a margarita pitcher into the air with one hand and lifting up her shirt to show off her flat abs with the other while her lips remained determinedly glued to Zac Efron's. "That Caroline Herrera shirt-dress looks _tres_ hot on me, no?"

"Claire." Miles steepled his fingers. "Claire, there's no right way to say this, so I'm just going to say it. Your party girl act is no longer something you want to continue."

"I tried to get Zac to get green streaks in hair that night, but he said he'd rather go to the club," Claire informed him. "Miley was there, though. Isn't she supposed to be the sitting-home-in-her-pajamas type? I kind of want to do a Disney show, actually –"

"Claire!" Miles cut her off. "Look, you're fab and fantastic, but this is an ultimatum: you clean up your act or you're out of work."

Claire narrowed her Clinique mascara-ringed eyes, all traces of pleasant chattiness gone. "Tell that to Mr Oscar. Or the twenty million _Mean Girls 2_ just grossed."

"I know you're hot right now, babe…" Miles' gaze lingered a little longer than Claire thought was totally necessary on the exposed leg that her Hollister jean skirt displayed. "But Fox is calling you unreliable and threatening to drop you from _La La Land_. The _Sun_ compared you to Hilary Duff and found her wrinkles easier to work with than you showing up hung over on the sets. Warner –"

Claire stood up, ignoring him, and surveyed the office. In addition to movie posters starring her adorning the walls, there were pictures of her – her in her Chanel Oscar gown, her shaking hands with Miles, her and Abby Boyd at some MTV awards show, her and Lindsay Lohan sharing a kiss…okay, _what_? "Do you jerk off to my pictures, Milesy boy?"

Miles rubbed his temples wearily. "Claire, if you don't stop acting the way you do off the sets, I'm going to call up every studio working with you and tell them you're unavailable."

Claire spun on her bright red Blahniks and smiled brightly. "And I'll tell all the other agents who are dying to work with me that _you_ are."

Miles looked her in the eye. "I wonder," he said slowly, "what everyone back in Westchester – and the rest of the world, I suppose – would say if they knew that you called a certain old friend's name out in your sleep practically every night." 

Time slowed. Silence fell. Claire stood absolutely still for a long moment. Then she stalked abruptly to the desk and sat down on the couch again, back ramrod-straight.

"Fine," she said evenly, keeping her face devoid of emotion, "what does this clean-up-my-act thing entail, exactly?"

Miles shrugged. "Something entirely drastic and little-virgin-in-Missouri that nobody will expect of you."

"Rehab?" Claire asked. Miles rolled his eyes. "Okay, that would be too much to hope for. Born Again virgin? Volunteer work? A role on a Christian TV show?"

"Getting an education," Miles corrected.

"Like what, getting a GED, which I already happen to be working on?" Claire furrowed her brushed blond brows in disgust.

"No, Claire," Miles said gently. "Like going back to high school."

Claire leaned back in her seat as his words sank into her brain. She waited for him to burst out laughing or brandish a video camera. When he didn't, she took a deep breath. She wouldn't throw a tantrum – yet. "Do I look like puke-green locker material to you anymore, Miles?" she said, her voice dangerously low.

Miles raised his eyebrows. "You will have a choice of schools, Claire. It doesn't necessarily have to be public school. It can be any school, as long as it's a day school and it's in this country."

Claire walked over to the floor-length mirror on the back of the door to the office and surveyed herself. A smile spread over her lips as she took in her appearance and let herself think about what it could accomplish for a second instead of starting the shrieking-swearing-manipulating thing that generally got her what she wanted. "Okay."

Miles looked astonished, as if he'd expected her to throw her shoes at him. "_Really_?"

"Hell, yeah." Claire grinned gleefully.

Miles blinked rapidly. "Well," he said, clearly trying to regain his business-like manner. "Well, all right, where would you like to go? Pacific Palisades High, maybe, or Beverly Hills? You should find your peers then – but then again, it wouldn't quite be enough of a punishment. Of course, there are a few schools in Orange County, which would be quieter for you, or there's always Massachusetts if you prefer the WASP experience –"

"Westchester High," Claire announced, raking her manicured fingers through her blond hair.

Miles paused. "Westchester High," he repeated expressionlessly.

Claire cocked her head and smiled thinly. "It's time to settle old scores, Milesy boy."

**I'm so sorry that was so short, but I've got exams going on! We get to more interesting stuff next chapter, I promise! Thank you to the reviewers who made my day: **

**2ndChild **

**lolo7676 **

**Magagie **

**jessj822: I'm actually trying to think of a good title. Can you help me? **

**puppyloveallways **

**CriticCorner **

**Zashleyrocks and Zanessasucks **

**prettyperfecttoes **


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